


I Got Over You

by timeandspace11



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeandspace11/pseuds/timeandspace11
Summary: He stops by the squad room one night, hoping she'll be there, hoping they can talk, and hoping that maybe 10 years isn't too many to wait for forgiveness.
Relationships: Olivia Benson/Elliot Stabler
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

He stood in her doorway, as imposing as ever but smaller, somehow, than he used to seem.

His face was weathered, and bearded, something she'd never seen him as before. Though the lines around them had deepened, his eyes hadn't changed at all. They still had that mischievous glint that had ruined her all those years ago.

She wondered briefly if he thought age had been as kind to her. Her hand was in her hair, rearranging the tresses before she could stop herself. Smoothing the front of her jacket she stood up a little straighter, and walked around to the other side of her desk, sliding her glasses onto her face.

"That's what I did 'while you were gone'," she said. It wasn't short, or snippy, it was just a fact. "I got over you."

***elliot***

He watched her through the window, hovering just beyond her line of sight.

Her hair was longer, different, but he liked it. She was reading something, obviously invested because she was absentmindedly tracing her lip with the arm of her glasses. Before she did it he knew she was about to bite the end of the arm, the same way she used to bite her pen 100 years ago at the desk he was leaning against now.

Lost in thought was how he liked her best. It was the only time she was completely unaware of the world around her. Her brows knit together and the lines on her face deepened, and he noticed for the first time that time had passed. He hoped it had been as kind to him as it had to her.

When he'd left she was a detective, second grade, the world in front of her. Now there she was in Cragen's office, the world at her feet and the pride of the NYPD at her command.

He took a deep breath and adjusted his cufflinks. He smirked. Cufflinks. She was going to laugh him out of her office.

***olivia***

The knock at the door brought her out of her fog and back to reality. Standing, she dropped Barba's briefing on the desk and threw her glasses on top of it, motioning for their former ADA to come in without looking up.

The door opened and she turned, preparing an explanation for why she hadn't gotten back to him yet, when she realized it wasn't Barba.

It wasn't his face she recognized first, but his scent. She wouldn't have believed it was him unless that familiar mix of laundry soap and Irish Spring hadn't wafted in with the opening door. She'd made fun of him for years, the Irishman using Irish Spring.

It wasn't so funny now. The scent brought back things she'd filed away neatly, things she'd worked hard and long to file away under "need not open again."

And now here he was, and here she was and there those things were, fluttering uselessly around her.

***elliot***

"Hi."

He'd spent the last 6 months imagining this moment, ever since he'd rejoined the force and found out he'd be working with her again, and the best he could come up with was 'Hi.'

Her eyes widened as she froze, obviously caught off guard. It suddenly occurred to him that when she'd motioned him inside she'd been expecting someone else.

"Elliot."

Her voice. His name. It was over for him the second he walked into that office, he just didn't know it until then. He was the captain of his own unit, a unit dedicated to taking down organized crime, he was respected in the NYPD again but in that moment, at the sound of his name leaving her lips, he was nothing.

***olivia***

"Olivia"

There was something about the way he said her name, there always had been. The way it sounded like home, and comfort, and all the things she'd been missing since he left.

Words were failing her. There were dozens of things she wanted to say to him. Things she'd practiced but never said, things she'd written in letters she never mailed. But as he stood in front of her, real and solid, and nothing like she imagined, all she could think about was how glad she was to see him.

Her rage had been practiced, planned.

But she knew what they said about the best laid plans.

***elliot***

The silence between them was deafening. He'd heard people say that but he'd never really felt it. Now, looking at her leaning against her desk for support, support he wanted to give her, he heard everything but what he wanted.

The clock on her wall, the phones ringing in the bullpen behind him. His own heartbeat, getting more rapid by the minute.

He was a trained Marine, he could survive for hours under extreme pressure but 5 minutes in her presence was enough to send his nervous system into overdrive.

"What, uh..." he cleared his throat, looking around the office, anywhere but at her. "What did you get up to while I was gone?"

He was going for casual, almost playful, but he regretted it the second he said it. It had been a decade since he'd walked out on her. He didn't deserve casual.

***olivia***

It was his audacity that broke her.

What had she been up to? Up to? Seriously?

She couldn't believe him. How dare he. How dare he walk out on her and then waltz back in a decade later and act like nothing had changed. Like he'd left for coffee and gotten stuck in traffic and been gone just a little longer than he'd planned.

Everything she'd opened up to, everything she'd finally let herself feel over the past 10 years, was crashing down on her and she was starting to panic.

Haden. Cassidy. Lewis. Noah. Barba. Dodds. Tucker.

And punctuating them all, Elliot. Elliot. Elliot. Elliot.

If she thought she'd been through it with him, it was nothing compared to what she'd been through without him. Somehow it was worse without him, and somehow, he hung over her even more after he left.

For the past 10 years, she'd worked to untangle herself from his web, extradited herself from his borders, and closed the door on him, them, forever.

"I got over you."

***elliot***

She got over him. She was over him. He didn't know she'd ever been under him.

The thumping in his chest was all he could hear now. Focusing on getting air into and out of his lungs was his goal, followed by unclenching his fists. It had taken ten years to finally get his rage under control and here, now, in one singular moment, he could feel it all unraveling.

His therapist had told him it was the job that had spurred his fury, that it had been good, healthy even, to take a step back from the rapists and child abusers. And it had been. A year after he'd left he'd started sleeping through the night. Six months after that he'd lost the urge to solve problems with his fists. It was 3 years before the tightness in his chest had finally lifted.

Until this very moment he'd believed it was the job.

But now, in this office, he considered the fact that it could have been something else. Something else causing his blood pressure to skyrocket, and his fists to itch for a wall to punch.

He considered for the first time that it was her.

And that scared him more than anything.

***olivia***

Though she'd spent the past decade doing everything in her power not to think about him, she could still read him like a book.

She could see his rage hadn't subsided, though she'd heard through the grapevine that he'd finally submitted to the psych eval he'd rejected all those years ago.

It obviously hadn't done anything. Her eyes flicked to his fists and she almost smirked at his white knuckles.

"Really?" She heard herself say. "You're angry with me?"

It was more cruel than she'd planned, but she didn't really care. What right did he have to be angry with her? What had she done? Called him too much after he abandoned her? Left him too many messages begging for him to return just one of them?

Angry. She could have laughed. He didn't know angry.

***elliot***

The smartest thing to do would have been to leave. No, he thought, the smartest thing would have been not coming at all.

But it was too late, he was here now. He might as well lay it all out. Deep down, they both knew it already.

"You know what Liv, I am angry," he growled. "I am so god damn angry."

He closed his eyes, the memory bringing back guilt and shame with it.

If there were words he'd never found them. How do you explain to someone you never dreamed of breaking that they'd broken you first? That the very thing he feared, they feared, the most, had happened before either of them knew it, and for the very reason he swore it wouldn't?

***olivia***

There was something about his tone that made her very aware of herself. Of her heartbeat, of her breathing, as if both were about to stop and she was counting down to the last ones.

Something about him was different, she knew that, she'd known it as soon as he walked in. She thought it was the same thing that was different about her; time, age, experience.

But something else was creeping through. Nothing about him had ever scared her, but the way he was looking at her was like someone had dragged an ice cube down her spine and lit a fire deep in her belly all at once.

"You think you're angry?" she whispered. She could show him angry. Anger like she'd felt those first few months after he'd left her. Anger like she'd shown Lewis.

"You left me."

It was then that she realized it was that simple. It always had been. He was there and then he wasn't, in an instant dividing her life into the before and the after with such cruel finality that it had almost divided her too.

***elliot***

If she only knew why.

It was true. He had left her. He had been there one day and then without another word he had been gone.

All because he was supposed to hate her, supposed to resent her, but all he could do was love her.

He could still hear Kathy's eerily calm voice that night when he'd come home shaken after killing a teenager, a victim's daughter. Refusing to admit why he'd done it. That it wasn't the thought of his own life, or his kids or his wife, that made him pull the trigger but the thought of his partner's lifeless body bleeding out on the concrete squad room floor.

"It's me or her. I'm not doing this for another dozen years. I can't compete with her. I never could. I'm leaving. You decide if you want to come along."

There was only one answer. There always had been.

***olivia***

She could tell he was holding back. She almost wished he wouldn't.

How much of her life had been spent not saying how she felt? Spent hiding behind walls and wishes and wives. How many times didn't she say what she wanted?

Where did that get her? What did she have to lose now?

"You left me," she said, louder this time. Every word she never said had suddenly found its way to the tip of her tongue, and was threatening to break free.

"You left me."

For the first time she tore her eyes from his, looking just over his shoulder into the bullpen. It had emptied substantially and she briefly wondered how long he'd been standing there. It could have been an hour or five minutes, she had no way of knowing.

Steeling herself, she met his gaze again.

"And then you lost me."

***elliot***

That, he knew.

He'd lost more than his job that day. Kathy had taken his silence as the affirmation she'd never asked for that she'd always been second, and she'd never looked back.

Then Olivia started calling him. For weeks he couldn't bear the thought of facing her. Of hearing her voice, pleading for him, begging for him.

What was he going to say? That he couldn't answer because despite the fact that she'd torn him apart, that if she was anyone else he would despise her, but he couldn't? That he couldn't answer because he was trying to hate her? That he needed to hate her? That he needed the space between them to use as a punishment? That he'd chosen her but he couldn't bring himself to go through with it? That Kathy had finally had enough. That he was alone. That he was broken. That he was a coward.

The truth was he didn't hate her. What had she done? It wasn't her fault that he'd fallen for her the moment he met her. That he'd been living a lie for 12 years. That he'd brought yet another kid into this world with a woman he didn't love.

That he could have put them all out of their misery years ago if he'd just been man enough to admit what everyone already knew?

No, he didn't hate her. He hated himself.

"I couldn't say goodbye to you, because I needed to hate you. I needed to hate you because that was easier than admitting that I couldn't look at myself in the mirror anymore."

***olivia***

It was never hatred that she felt toward him. To be perfectly honest she didn't think she could hate him. Anger yes, resentment, yes. Hatred, never.

But he'd hated her. He just admitted it. She felt the fire extinguish within her, felt herself crumbling to ashes. In every scenario she'd imagined it had never been hatred of her that had driven him away. Wildly she'd even thought maybe he'd felt the same thing she did, that magnetic pull, that sixth sense that drew her to him, that was bigger and more complicated than either of them could explain.

Years ago she'd settled on the idea that maybe she'd turned one thing into another. That she'd been embellishing the touches and glances that had built up over the years, and blown them out of proportion. That there had been nothing there to begin with.

And yet that Elliot intuition was telling her he wasn't done yet. There was more to his story, he just hadn't gotten there yet.

For the first time it occurred to her that he could have had as hard a time as she did. That there was another side to the story, and that maybe he was here to tell it.

***elliot***

Even ten years later he could feel her emotions almost before she could. Though she'd been a closed book, a heavily padlocked vault to everyone else, he'd cracked her exterior and figured her out.

She'd always been more composed than he had, but her temper still flared like a flash flood; quick, destructive and over before you knew it. Her eyes gave her away then and he almost smiled when he noticed they still did. Against his will he felt the tension easing in his shoulders.

If she was angry that was good, it meant she still felt something. And he would do anything to make sure she kept feeling something.

"Being angry at you, hating you... It was easier than admitting the truth," he said, his voice cracking. He stepped toward her, the door falling closed behind him.

She stood as he moved toward her and he froze, lifting his hands ever so slightly, a mock surrender.

"The truth, that I didn't think about me, or my kids, or my wife when I pulled that trigger that day. The only thing I could see was you."

Another step toward her and he'd be close enough to touch her. He didn't know if he dared to chance that.

But what more did he have to lose?

"The only thing I ever saw was you."

***olivia***

If she hadn't felt his fingers graze her arm she wouldn't have believed any of it had happened.

It was surreal, she thought, the feeling when everything you ever imagined comes to life. Like she'd just realized she was dreaming, and was now waiting to wake up.

They'd been here before. They'd been right here once before, and she hadn't liked the ending then anymore than she did now.

And suddenly she realized that she'd been wrong all those years. She'd always said she couldn't imagine something bad enough to force him out like that, but the truth had just hit her like a train.

He ran just like she had.

In an instant, she understood it all. She was there again, lying on the floor of Penn Station, his hand on her neck as Gitano got away.

There, in that warehouse, pointing a gun at the man she... knowing the one thing she had to do was the one thing she couldn't.

Not thinking about his kids or his wife, only imagining his lifeless body bleeding out on the floor, leaving her alone.

Jumping at an undercover assignment on an environmental terrorism case she had no business taking, 4 time zones away just so she didn't have to confront him about their feelings.

Empathy only she could feel for him rushed through her.

Some might call it forgiveness.

Still feeling his hand on her arm, she looked down. She'd always liked his hands. The pattern of scars that wove across them gave away the fact that while he was well dressed, there was an intensity under the button down that couldn't be tamed.

A split second later and she might not have noticed it. Her eyes had been tracing a scar on the back of his hand that wound its way between his middle and fourth finger when she saw it. Or rather, it's absence.

Gone was the thin gold band, the line that separated them for all those years, the clear symbol of commitment. In its place just a slightly paler line of skin, almost unnoticeable to anyone but her, to anyone who hadn't spent 12 years of her life acutely aware of its presence.

The band was gone but even in death, its ghost haunted her still.

***elliot***

Part of him wanted her to see it, but the other part regretted it the moment she did.

This was a mistake. He shouldn't have come. He should have let them meet in the field, where they were surrounded by colleagues, or dealing with a body, and they could stuff everything deep down where it belonged.

It was a moment before he realized he was still holding her arm. She hadn't shrugged him off, which he considered a good sign.

There was so much more he wanted to say but he barely knew where to begin. Her silence wasn't helping but the fact that he was still letting him touch her was encouraging.

Taking a deep breath, he squeezed her arm before moving to pull his hand away.

To his surprise, she caught it before he could.

***olivia***

As she tore her eyes from his fingers she noticed he'd traded one piece of gold for another. Cufflinks glinted at his wrists, keeping together the cuffs of a starched white shirt, barely hiding the Rolex that peeked out from underneath.

To her surprise, the first thing to cross her mind wasn't the obvious sign of his marital dissolution, but that he'd never dress like this on purpose.

Torn between the urge to ask and the urge to laugh at the thought of Elliot Stabler wearing starched shirts, let alone cufflinks, but before she could she heard him sigh and felt herself fall back into reality.

She felt him squeeze her arm and knew he was going to pull away. She caught him before he could, she didn't know why. It was mind over matter at that point. The matter was she should have kicked him out the second he got here. The voice in the back of her mind was telling her their proximity was dangerous.

Dangerous. Her entire life was filled with danger. Part of her job was to put herself in the line of fire and she did it so often she barely noticed anymore.

But nothing had ever felt more dangerous to her than he did. Than their proximity did. That gold band was more than a ring around his finger, it was a wall around him. For 12 years she'd walked in circles around the wall, waved a white flag over it, even been body slammed into it. Parts had crumbled but she'd never imagined that one day it would be torn down.

She never imagined it would fall, but she always knew that if it did she'd find herself clawing through the wreckage to get to him.

***elliot***

For years he'd imagined this moment, but everything he'd ever imagined was wrong.

Every scenario possible had been played out in his head; the one where she'd jumped at the chance to see him again, the one where he'd told her he was sorry and she bared her soul right back. He'd even imagined her screaming or slamming a door in his face.

Silence — complete, heavy, palpable silence — was never what he'd imagined.

It was comforting and disquieting all at once. He longed to fill it, but he'd said all he could. There was more explanation needed, of course, if he didn't think she'd cut him off he'd tell her everything that had happened to him in the last 10 years down to the minute.

But he had to know she wanted to hear it.

"Olivia."

His voice was raspy, betraying the restraint he was depending on. It was now or never, he was going to tell her everything.

Before he could she stood up straight, the top of her head level with his eyes, just as it always had been. She was dangerously close to him now, so close he could smell her perfume. The corners of his mouth threatened a smile as he realized it was the same one he'd bought her years ago for Christmas.

It was a sign, he thought. A sign that maybe, just maybe, she hadn't stopped thinking about him.

***olivia***

She stood up before she meant to, not realizing he was as close as he was. Mere inches separated them, and it occurred to her that the old Elliot would have backed up immediately, putting space between them.

But this Elliot remained within inches, unbothered by the distance. In fact, she could have sworn she felt him move closer.

Lifting her hand she hesitated before resting it lightly on his chest, her fingers grazing the buttons on his shirt.

It was probably her imagination, but she would have put money on the fact that she could feel his heart beat. Or maybe it was her own body tingling from the way he said her name, his voice husky and deep.

Swallowing hard, she steadied herself with a breath.

"You wanna go get a drink?"


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't have a plan when she invited him to drinks. Half expecting him to say no she'd thrown out her shot in the dark, knowing she had somewhere to be, wondering wildly if he'd just follow her out of the squad room to their old haunts like he used to.

It didn't make sense, she'd accepted that. She'd given up on frantically searching for an answer in the little they had said to each other since he'd walked through her door.

It had always been about what they didn't say to each other, anyway.

The silences between them had never been quiet. Even now, the closer he stood to her, the louder it got. Before long, she couldn't even hear herself over the sound of him.

Her hand was still on his chest, and she was beginning to feel her pulse synchronize with his heartbeat. The sound of their breathing, once ragged and out of time was falling in with each other's, slowing with every moment they stood there drowning in the silence.

There had never been so little space between them for so long, she thought. She's never had this much time to study him, never let herself have the time to feel him, but here she was, standing in her office, her palm all but glued to his chest, his heartbeat twitching under her fingers.

She swallowed hard, trying to draw in a breath, but her lungs were so in step with his that she felt she had to wait, like she couldn't breathe without him.

If she waited any longer, she didn't know what she would do. Her body wasn't quite hers at the moment and she knew her mind wasn't far behind.

***elliot***

"I could use a drink."

It was almost casual, the way she asked him. For a second the look on her face made him think she might regret it, but before he could catch her eye she had pushed lightly against his chest.

The old Elliot would have backed off immediately, created distance, walled himself off. The old Elliot had carefully measured the spaces between them, ensuring there was always the right amount, never getting closer than necessary.

There were times the lines had blurred and the distance had closed but as much as he longed for proximity to her he never let it happen.

But now, here, he couldn't bring himself to remove himself from her. Imagining putting space back between them was like imagining removing a limb. He was finally here, caught in her orbit, after all those years of hurdling toward her.

He felt her push against his chest again, this time a little harder. She still wasn't looking at him, her eyes trained on her own fingers, her eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly.

The pressure on his chest told him she wanted space, but by refusing to look at him it was like she was daring him not to back away.

He wondered if he dared.

***olivia***

Once again, time had lost its meaning. She had no idea how long her hand had been on Elliot's chest, or how long it had been since she'd spoken, or how long the two of them had been standing there.

She knew they had to go, that at some point the both of them would have to part and go to the drink she'd just invited him to. The drink she'd just invited him to knowing that Barba was on his way over to discuss the briefing left abandoned on her desk.

Lightly, she pushed against his chest, hoping he'd have the will she couldn't find to back away. He didn't move. She'd known he wouldn't, but she hoped for both of their sake that he would.

Taking a shaky breath, she pushed again, this time a little harder. He shifted under her hand but didn't back away. She didn't look at him, prolonging the moment before the impact she knew was coming.

It was a game they never got to play. As much as both of them wanted it, the cat and mouse gambit was always a step too far. There were moments, when one of them would catch the others eye. A spark would ignite but within moments extinguish, leaving nothing but ashes behind.

But they were past the point of no return.

***elliot***

Elliot knew there was no going back, but at this point, after all these years, he didn't know if he wanted to. For the first time in years, almost a decade, he had everything he wanted, quite literally in his hands.

Without thinking any more, he leaned forward into her.

"We should go," he heard her say softly, turning her head a moment too soon. Her hand lingered on his chest then dragged down lightly as she stepped sideways out from between him and her desk. A crackle of electricity followed the path her fingers skimmed down his wool jacket, a tangible reminder of the spark he'd felt a moment ago.

Watching as she gathered her things, he noticed she continued to avoid his gaze, her eyes flicking almost nervously back and forth across her desk. It occurred to him that he'd never seen her nervous before. He wondered if it was him making her nervous.

She'd always been inexplicably calm in the face of danger, particularly when her own life was at stake, but he'd never known her to be as subtly unsettled, as delicately unhinged as she was now.

As she breezed past him, pausing only to hold her office door open, he realized she might not be the only one feeling a little on edge.

***olivia***

As she walked next to him, her steps so easily falling in line with his, her mind drifted back to her office. A moment before she'd turned her head she'd felt something, seen him leaning down in her peripheral vision.

Muscle memory was a cruel superpower. Her head had turned almost before she'd made the decision, fear of the unknown, fear of factors no longer in play overwhelming her. Moving before he could get too close. Running at the first sign of intimacy.

She wondered if she'd blown it. If there would be another moment tonight, or ever, where she'd be that close to him again. But they'd left he safety of her office and were now walking past the park with no real destination in mind. They'd put distance between themselves once they'd left the precinct, and she noticed that though their footsteps were perfectly in line she had fallen one behind him.

"Joes?" He asked her suddenly. She blinked, looking up and meeting his eyes for the first time in what felt like hours.

"Hmm?"

"Joes," he repeated. "His place still open?"

She nodded absentmindedly, her mind still 8 blocks behind her in her office.

"Sounds good," she said softly.

***elliot***

If someone had asked him that morning how he envisioned spending his evening, even in his wildest dreams he couldn't have imagined it. But here he was, seated at the far end of an old cop bar in Midtown, Olivia next to him.

"What can I get you two," the bartender asked before looking up at Olivia. "Captain, I'm sorry I almost didn't recognize you. The usual?"

He was already pulling a bottle of red out from below the bar when Olivia shook her head.

"Bourbon, please," she said quietly. Elliot opened his mouth to specify, but the bartender had already turned around. He chanced a glance at Olivia but she was staring straight ahead, her eyes unfocused.

Moments later the bartender turned around with two bourbons, sliding the glasses toward them.

"It's on the house." Olivia looked up in protest, but he shook his head. "Ed took care of a few in advance a couple months ago," he added quietly. "He said you'd need them."

Looking up, he noticed Olivia staring determinedly down at her drink. There was something in her eyes that he couldn't quite place; a sadness, but deeper, murkier.

"Ed Tucker," she said, answering his unasked questions and turning to face him for the first time since sitting down. "I'd forgotten we used to come here..."

Elliot's mind was racing. He'd heard about Tucker, everyone in the NYPD had. He'd felt bad for the guys family but he couldn't say he was too bothered about the death of the guy who'd tried more than once to put him behind bars.

"Why is the head of the rat squad buying your drinks?" He asked before he could stop himself. She turned to look at him for a long moment, her face unreadable, before looking down into his drink. He didn't know if he'd overstepped, but he could tell he'd said something that had gotten to her.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he had missed so much of her life. He went from knowing everything about her, down to her blood type, to being an incomplete stranger, a piece of someone she used to know. In an instant, he could feel the space between them, despite the proximity he'd always craved.

He realized It was going to take more than a bourbon to close that distance.

***olivia***

If she hadn't been so overwhelmed by the day, she would have laughed at his surprise. Twelve years ago she too would have balked at Ed Tucker buying her a drink, let alone her and her partner. A knot formed in her stomach as she realized his shock was just another reminder of the time they'd spent apart. She looked back at her drink, and took a long deep breath.

It was a minute or two before she spoke, deciding against answering his question. If there was anything she'd learned from the hours she'd spent with Dr. Lindstrom, it was that healing couldn't begin unless someone was willing to bear witness.

She just didn't think she'd be baring it all just yet. But there was something in the sincerity she'd seen that day, something in the space they'd shared that pushed her to talk to him, to want to talk to him. To weave him back into her world, however dark and twisted it had become after he left.

Not everything was his fault. Not everything was on him to fix. He'd left, that much was true, but as much as he'd left she'd shut the door on him, walling him off, refusing to feel anything for him.

Though it was impossible to explain, she knew implicitly that she still trusted him. Though the years had changed him, both of them, they were still the same people they had been all those years ago. The same people who had put their lives in each others hands, who had become so internally entwined with each other that she didn't know where his mind ended and hers began.

And, she thought, they had to start somewhere.

***elliot***

"I didn't know how angry I was until a few years after you left," she whispered. "I thought I had it under control. I thought I... I thought I could handle it on my own."

Despite everything in him wanting to reach out and pull her into him and never let her go, Elliot knew better than to interrupt. He'd never seen her like this, but he understood the gravity of her tone.

"When Lewis had me in that beach house... he'd been egging me on for days, talking about you, and me. It was like he knew how I felt about... like he was inside my head."

Elliot had no idea what she was talking about but there was something about her story that sounded familiar.

"I finally had him. He was down, he'd been subdued. He wasn't a threat."

Her voice faltered, but didn't quite break.

"I could have stopped. I didn't want to. I had that bar in my hands and I ..."

Pausing, she took a long sip from her glass, and set it down clumsily on the bar.

"They told me it was a miracle he survived. I thought it was the stress, the trauma, the panic. But later, before the trial, his attorney mentioned you. She tried to claim I used excessive force. Tried to claim I was taking out all of the rage I felt toward you on him. I couldn't argue. I didn't even try."

"I was so angry at you I almost killed him. Everything I'd sworn I could deal with. Everything I thought I was handling, I took it all out on him."

It clicked in a second. A phone call, eight years ago, from some attorney wanting to know about his history of anger issues. He'd assumed it was someone pushing a psych eval on him again, and all but told her to fuck off.

"Marron... something Marron," he said. She looked at him, her eyebrows knit together. "She was his attorney, right?"

"How'd you know that?"

"She called me. I didn't know, I mean I didn't even ask what it was about but she kept asking why I left and if I'd gone to treatment for my anger issues."

Olivia's eyes widened.

"What did you say?"

For the first time that night Elliot felt like he had done something right.

"I told her to go to hell."

His suspicions were confirmed when he saw her smile. It was small, and quick, but it lit up the bar.

"You probably saved my career," she said. He shrugged.

"It was the least I could do."

***olivia***

It didn't bother her, somehow, that he didn't know what happened to her. In fact, she realized it might have made her more at ease. The eggshells she'd walked on for the last seven years had started to wear on her; knowing that anytime someone mentioned Lewis, or kidnapping, that they'd turn to her with that look, that look that assumed she was still wounded, still broken.

She'd done a lot of work to get to where she was, work she was proud of. Work she'd always wondered how survivors managed to get through until she did it herself.

"It's okay to ask, you know," she said, sipping her drink. She saw him look down, the slightest flush creeping up his neck. "I saw your face when I mentioned Lewis. You had no idea what I was talking about."

"What happened?" He asked. So simple. She almost didn't want to tell him. To ruin the ease of their meeting.

But she did. How could she not? Through it all he was the one person she wanted to talk to the most, and the one person she couldn't.

It shocked her how easy it was to talk to him about it. What shocked her more was that for the first time she was telling the truth. The whole truth, all at once, not the bits and pieces she'd let slip here and there over the years. The entire story from start to finish. A release she never knew she needed.

As she finished her story she lifted her glass, motioning to the bartender for a refill. As Joe topped off her bourbon, she chanced a glance at Elliot.

His eyes were fixed on his drink, and to anyone else he would look calm, maybe indifferent. She knew better. His knuckles were white, and his jaw was set. This was the Stabler she knew, the angsty, fiery, brooding cop who wouldn't hesitate to get his knuckles bloody for her.

"You should have killed him," he said quietly, taking a long drink.

Regarding him for a moment, she smiled to herself. Everyone told her how she did the right thing, or how she was such a hero. All she'd ever wanted was for someone to know how she felt, to know what she'd wanted to do, and to not hold that against her.

And he'd done just that.

"I know," she whispered back. Their eyes met and he smirked, clinking his glass lightly against hers.

"That's my girl."

***elliot***

Elliot had imagined hurting perps before. The men who hurt his daughters, the man he'd named his son after. But he'd never wanted to kill someone before. To actually end someone's life had always been a step too far, the finality of death a punishment unearned by any crime.

And yet there wasn't a doubt in his mind that if William Lewis hadn't already been dead, he would have killed him himself. It wasn't until he heard her utter her agreement that he realized just how close to the edge that monster had pushed her.

And just how deep a pit she'd had to claw her way out of.

Elliot could feel the burden lifting. He knew it would take time, much more time than either of them had right now, but for the first time, he felt like things were moving in the right direction.

Watching her relax next to him was helping. Over the past hour he'd watched the tension flow out of her, watched her loosen up, watched her turn into a woman a decade younger.

He didn't deserve her forgiveness, but on some inexplicable level he knew she was giving it to him. That despite the damage he'd done she was open to reparations.

Second chances were hard to come by and he wasn't going to waste his.

***olivia***

The anger that had resided so comfortably in the hollow of her chest for all those years, the fury that bore his name, was seeping out of her, slipping through her fingers by the moment.

She always thought she'd miss it once it was gone. After all, the anger was familiar, it was safe, safer than the things she could let fill the hollow instead. Imagining losing that was like losing a part of her. To her surprise, the empty hollow was a welcome crevasse, not a hole she needed to fill, but an openness she'd never embraced before.

"Dr. Feinstein," Elliot said. She glanced at him, waiting for him to elaborate. They didn't need to dig through each other at this point. Everything had either bubbled to the surface or was about to break it.

"My shrink. He's the one who told me to come. Tonight I mean, to see you."

She blinked. Elliot was in therapy. The poster child for rage, she'd called him. Unstable Stabler.

It hit her, hard, what he'd gone through over the last decade. She may have had her loneliness, and Lewis, but he'd had his own demons.

"After Kathy..." he turned back to his drink, frowning. The muscle in his jaw twitched, and she reached out without thinking, resting her hand on his arm. An unexpected wave of emotion threatened to break her when he covered her hand with his and turned toward her, a look in his eye she couldn't place.

"After Kathy died, I didn't know what I was going to do," he whispered.

***elliot***

There it was. It was all on the table now. She'd shown him hers, it was time he unveiled his.

"After Kathy died, I didn't know what I was going to do."

Feeling Olivia's fingers flinch on his arm, he looked down. He didn't look at her. He couldn't. If he did he was sure the guilt was going to cripple him.

After all, the weight of it all had almost broken him before. There weren't words to explain the things that wound through his brain, weaving convoluted webs of thought.

For his entire adult life, he'd loved two women, in vastly different ways.

One, as the mother of his children, the teenage dream he'd married at 20 after his mother told him to "do the right thing." The woman he'd fallen into a life with, who stuck it out whether of obligation or allegiance he'd never know.

The other, his partner, the woman he shared his soul with, who bared her soul to him, who he fought with and for, who had broken him down and built him up over and over. The woman he loved so much he could never tell her, because the thought of anything other than reciprocation was enough to end him.

"When Kathy died..." he whispered. "I loved her, Olivia. I loved her because she was the mother of my children. She created the five most important things in my life, the things that I'm most proud of in this world."

But that hadn't been enough for her. He should have realized that earlier.

***olivia***

If it hadn't been firmly implanted in her chest, caged in by her ribs, she'd have carved her heart out and given it to him right there.

It had always been this way with him, with them. When one of their worlds shattered, the other was there to pick up the pieces. It was just that the pieces hadn't been quite this jagged before.

She's always known what he needed, but this time was different. Closeness, wrapping him in her arms, that was what she wanted. Instead, she settled for all she could bring herself to do, resting her hand on his arm.

A moment later he spoke again, his voice throaty, breaking ever so slightly.

"After the divorce things were finally good between us. Really good, for the first time maybe ever," he said. "And then she got sick."

He met her eyes and she noticed the lines around his had deepened.

"She knew, she always knew, but we never talked about it until then. I guess imminent death really puts things in perspective."

He turned, taking a long sip from his glass.

"She told me I'd made a mistake leaving, told me we'd made a mistake being so noble all those years ago, that we should have done the things that made us happy."

"Feinstein was her shrink before she died and I kind of kept seeing him after. At first it was out of obligation to her but then it started to feel good."

Olivia could barely believe what he was telling her. She didn't know if she wanted to. Somehow she knew where he was headed and wanted to both turn and run and beat him to it.

"A few weeks ago he told me something Kathy said before she died, something I never expected," he said. With every word his voice changed, softening into a tone she'd never heard him use.

If anyone asked her she'd blame the bourbons, but the truth was she had to know, and she would have done anything to hear him say it.

"What was it?" She asked. Elliots steely blue eyes met hers, and for the first time that night she let them bore into her, not a battle of wills, but a truce. A white flag on the battleground of the last 10 years.

"She wanted me to tell you," he said simply.

This was torture like she'd never known.

Waiting for him to whisper the words they'd never said, for those 8 letters that had run wild through their minds, their collective consciousness, to finally fall from his lips, as if leaving them unspoken all those years had justified everything they imagined in the dark.

"El," she heard herself whisper. His eyes flicked down to her lips.

"I love you, Olivia," he said simply. "I always have."


	3. Chapter 3

The polish on her middle finger had started to chip. She had forgotten to pick up nail polish remover on the way home yesterday. She'd have to do that tonight.

"...Olivia?"

But what about her car? She drove to work today. If she wanted to stop she'd have to go home first and then walk to the corner store.

"Olivia."

She could take a cab, leave her car at the station overnight. After the bourbons that was probably the smartest idea. Take a cab, get out at the store. Walk the rest of the way. What time was it?

"Liv!"

She blinked. Elliot was looking at her with a strange expression, pushing a phone toward her. For the first time, she realized a phone was ringing. Her phone was ringing.

Looking down at it, she felt the air returning to her lungs.

It was Barba. The briefing. She had court in the morning. It was almost 10. She was 3 bourbons in.

Elliot hadn't moved, the look on his face was unreadable. He glanced down at her phone, then up at her, then back to his drink.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, picking up the phone. "Benson."

"Where are you, I've been calling you for over an hour," Barba's voice was harsh in her ear. "Did something happen to Noah?"

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I just… Noah's fine, I just lost track of time, I stepped out and left my work phone in my office."

"Is everything okay?" Barba asked. She closed her eyes, steadying herself.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said, forcing authority back into her voice. "I'm just down the street, do you need me to come back?"

"Have you been drinking?" Barba pushed again. Silently cursing him for being able to read her so well, she made up an excuse.

"No," she said, playing into it. "Well, just one. Fin and I just stepped out to celebrate. I hadn't been able to properly congratulate him and Phoebe. I just didn't realize it had gotten so late."

Next to her, Elliot's eyebrows raised, and he smiled down into his drink.

"Well, just remember you're due in court at 11," Barba admonished, his tone turning playful. "Did you at least get a chance to look over the file I sent you before you decided to play hooky?"

She hoped the sigh of relief that left her wasn't as audible through the phone. Assuring him she had indeed read through the brief, and would do so again before showing up tomorrow, she hung up the phone.

***elliot***

He told her he loved her. He couldn't believe it.

Yet here he was, sitting in the afterglow of his confession, feeling more at peace than he had in months. Maybe even years.

The confession had been unexpected, even to him, so it didn't surprise him in the least when she went silent. He almost welcomed the phone call though. He had to admit the silence was lasting a moment to long.

"You should go," Elliot said quietly.

"Elliot..."

"It's ok," he said, his face breaking into a smile. Work came first, he knew that. There would be time.

He hoped

As she began to gather her things, he regarded her. Her brow was furrowed, one eyebrow raised, the way it always was when she was deep in thought. She didn't seem upset, if anything she just seemed caught off guard. He took that as a good sign.

Their eyes met once more as she draped her coat over her arm. For a moment he thought she was going to say something, but he decided to take the pressure off.

"Dinner," he suggested. "Saturday night?"

Relief flooded her face, though she tried to hide it.

"Saturday," she agreed, cracking a smile.

***olivia***

As she left Joe's she closed her eyes, letting the cold air swirl around her. It had been warm in there, too warm, but she didn't know if it was the thermostat or her own anxiety making her sweat.

Elliot Stabler had just admitted he'd been in love with her, and she'd said nothing.

She'd planned a drug store trip, but she'd said absolutely nothing. Maybe she was panicking. Maybe she was having a stroke.

It was like her brain and her body were no longer connected. Like the signals from her brain were firing out into darkness and her body had gone numb. This was the perfect moment, this was the thing she'd always wanted, the thing she'd waited decades for.

Elliot Stabler had just told her he loved her. It was starting to sink in. The words were beginning to touch down on the surface of her consciousness, their weight settling into the folds of her brain.

She kept having to remind herself, playing the moment over and over in her head. It didn't feel real. It felt like a dream, like the moment right before you wake up and you realize you're dreaming, and that the sugar-coated candy land around you is about to vanish.

Like it was too good to be true. How could it be? What had she done to get everything she'd ever wanted, just handed to her, no strings.

After all, isn't that what he'd just done? He'd sat there, in the middle of a cop bar, and handed his heart right over to her, wrapped up neatly in years of therapy, and intentionality, and cruel life experience.

But they weren't 25 anymore, there wasn't any room for error. They weren't those kids who used to run around the squad room, fighting crime by day and drinking in rowdy cop bars by night. The world was different now, and they were different.

Noah flashed through her mind. She hadn't even told him about Noah.

Who she should tell first, she wondered. Did she tell Elliot about her son? Or her son about her old partner? Neither were conversations she thought she could handle tonight, that much she knew.

She walked for a few more blocks before hailing a cab. Noah was at Lucy's for the night, meaning she could have the night to herself.

And tonight of all nights, she wanted nothing more than to sink into the bathtub, get in bed, and sleep.

***elliot***

Elliot watched her go, his eyes lingering on the doorway long after she was gone. Eventually, he turned back to the bar, finishing his drink and reveling in the feeling radiating through him.

It was surreal, the feeling that he'd done the thing he'd always wanted to do. What was next? Everest? He'd already crested his highest of summits, and he couldn't imagine a higher high.

Almost.

Olivia's silence had been expected; her phone call hadn't. Once again, he wondered who he'd spirited her away from that night, recalling the fact she'd been waiting for someone, and trying not to connect that to the urgent male voice on the other end of the line.

"You all set or you got one more in you?" Joe asked, holding up the bottle. Elliot shook his head. Like Olivia, he too had commitments in the morning he needed to be clear-headed for.

"I'm all set," he said, sliding his empty glass toward the bartender. "Just close me out."

Joe shook his head, waving a hand as he set Elliot's glass in the sink behind him. "Like I told the captain, Ed took care of a few before... you know."

Elliot nodded vaguely. Everything in him wanted to ask Joe why, but he held his tongue. Why was Ed Tucker buying drinks for Olivia? In advance, no less, and clearly at no expense. He wasn't a big bourbon drinker, but he could tell from the bottles' placement on the shelf alone that it wasn't cheap.

As he grabbed his coat and looked around the near-empty bar, his curiosity got the better of him.

"Hey, Joe," he called. Joe turned back to him. "The drinks, you know why Tucker did it?"

The corners of the bartender's mouth pulled up in a wry smile.

"I don't wanna speak ill of the dead," he said softly. "But he should have told her sooner."

The bartender gathered the two empty glasses from the bar in front of him. After a moment he sighed and looked up at Elliot.

"All he told me when he paid was he was making up for all the time they wouldn't get," he said. Then, with a nod, he turned.

"Have a good night sir."

With that, Joe sidled down the bar to close out his last few tabs.

Left with more questions than answers, Elliot sighed. Digging into his coat pocket, he tossed all the cash he had on him on the bar, nodded at Joe and stepped out onto the street.

***olivia***

It was Tuesday. That meant she had 3 days to come up with a response.

She turned off the faucet and leaned back in the tub, relaxing into the steaming, bubbling water. When she and Brian had been apartment hunting she'd scoffed at a bathtub. What was the point? Time for baths wasn't something she imagined having, especially with her job. Now she made time for them, despite having a first grader and squad to look after.

It had been a minute since she'd thought about Brian, she realized. Or Tucker, for that matter. She'd been caught off guard more than once tonight.

The drinks had been unexpected. Tucker had left her a letter, before he died, explaining why he did it, that he was leaving everything to his wife, and apologizing that they didn't have more time. He never said anything about drinks.

But Joe's had been their spot, ever since the night he convinced her to try the bourbon. It escaped her at the time, but he'd really been convincing her to try him.

And she had, and she'd been happy, the happiest she'd ever been. Brian had made her happy, she supposed, but momentarily, fleetingly. Situationally. David Haden hadn't had the time.

Ed Tucker had made her happy even when she wasn't thinking about it.

Could she say the same for Elliot? She'd been happy when he was her partner. Almost.

Like him, true happiness had lain just beyond her reach. She'd supplemented it, chased it, lusted after it, but even after a decade of running she never quite caught up with it.

And then he'd just left, and the dozen years of trust they'd built, painstakingly, had shattered. She was trying not to hold that against him but it was like a downed power line waiting to electrocute her.

Love was the storm that downed it.

The pendulum swing from a decades-long unrequited slow burn to a hot, lustful, inevitably doomed affair with an assistant district attorney should have been her first red flag, but she'd been blissfully unaware. Consequences were unimportant because for the first time she was free to fall. Unafraid of falling in and out of lust, and dark eyes and uninhibited entanglements.

Falling into those who were so like him, so Elliot-adjacent, as if anything with a badge and a temper would be a suitable placeholder for the real thing.

The real thing which she craved, not desperately like a drug but wistfully, impossibly, the way the sun coveted starlight, the way darkness begged for light.

The way the things that could kill her had always made her feel the most alive.

Yes, she thought as she closed her eyes. She'd always been in love with Elliot. That had never been the question.

The question was whether or not she should be.

***elliot***

Elliot walked home in silence, letting the air fill his lungs and the tension leave his shoulders.

The walk back to his apartment was short. When he'd been apartment hunting he'd gravitated toward the West Village. He hadn't realized why until tonight.

Years ago, when he'd leave the office late at night, he'd wander the streets before getting in his car. There had always been a million reasons to go home but he'd always managed to find the one not to. The one last stack of paperwork. The one last run at a suspect. The one last drink with his partner.

Even after the last of everything, when he'd run out of "one more's" he'd always take a walk around the block. These streets had borne the brunt of his frustrations. They'd felt the drops of blood that dripped from his knuckles after they'd collided with a target. They'd felt the tears that he refused to shed until he was certain he was alone, solitary, and hunched beneath the streetlights.

Yes, the grid of streets surrounding the precinct had held him gently through the years, allowing him to haunt their sidewalks and alleyways, providing him solace from the outside world. Later, when he'd been searching for a different kind of solace, he hadn't even thought of looking anywhere else.

The building was old, but maintained, yet another former factory that had been turned into luxury condos. He hadn't intended to buy something — he was fine renting, uninterested in the commitment of ownership. His realtor had talked him into it, tossing around words like "resale value" and "buyers market." In the end he'd told her to do whatever cost him the least.

He'd ended up with a loft over the Highline, with views of the Hudson and Hoboken that he was told people would kill for. He hadn't spent enough time at home to see it.

Unlocking the door, he tossed his coat and scarf onto a coat rack. He made his way into the kitchen, minimal furnishings, but not for lack of trying. Maureen had helped him unpack, chastising him for all of the choking hazards he'd collected over the years.

"Dad, I'm serious," Maureen said, pulling a bucket filled with bottle caps out of reach of the baby crawling across the floor. "You can't have this stuff all over the place if you're gonna watch her."

"Come on," Elliot said, scooping the little girl up. "I've done this five times, you don't think I can take care of a kid?"

The baby flung her arm up and smacked Elliot in the face. He leaned away and stepped back, almost tripping over the cord to a mini-fridge.

"We'll be just fine," he said, nosing the side of the baby's head. "Won't we Ella? You and Grandpa will be just fine."

He smiled as he pulled a Diet Coke from the fridge. Grandpa. Of all the titles he imagined having one day "grandpa" wasn't one of them. He always knew his kids would have kids, he just never really thought he'd be around to see them. As he settled into the leather sofa and clicked on the tv, he shook his head. First grandkids, now Olivia.

Old age sure was full of surprises.

***olivia***

Three days had flown by.

The case she'd been pouring all of her energy into had drained her, set her at odds with Barba, fraying her last nerve.

Saturday was supposed to be her day off, but she'd been up before dawn, resigned to going into the precinct and catching up on the paperwork she'd pushed around her desk all week instead of doing.

"I thought you were taking today off."

Olivia jumped as she rounded the corner, not expecting to see anyone so early on a weekend. Fin was standing beside his desk, a cup of coffee and a box of donuts in his hands, clearly having beaten her inside by a minute.

"Those all for you," she deflected, raising her eyebrow at the donuts.

Fin ignored her.

"Didn't you listen to Garland," he called as she walked into her office. When she didn't respond he followed her. "I'm just saying, when the chief gives you a day off, you should take it."

"Fin, that's great, but I have paperwork to finish," she said. When she didn't hear him leave she looked up at him. "That my sergeant was supposed to do until he got engaged and started sneaking out early."

Fin rolled his eyes at her.

"She made me start drinking herbal tea," he said. "I don't wanna know what she'll start making me eat for dinner if I'm not there to cook it."

Olivia laughed, eliciting a smile from Fin before he turned back to the squad room.

"If you're still here by ten I'm carrying you out myself," he called a few minutes later. Shaking her head, she smiled.

"And I'll tell Phoebe you're drinking coffee behind her back," she called back. If he had a retort, Fin kept it to himself, but four hours later he was knocking on her office door.

"Anything you want to talk about?" He said casually, leaning against her doorframe. She looked up at him over her glasses, pursing her lips and shrugging. Fin sauntered into the room and leaned over the chair opposite the desk. "Anything you're avoiding?"

"What would I be avoiding?" She asked, though the way he was asking he knew something was up.

"The same thing you're avoiding telling Barba about," he said, crossing his arms and smirking. She narrowed her eyes. "He called for an update on the Meisenheimer case. And he told me to stop taking you out drinking before court."

Olivia sighed, dropping her face into her hands.

"I'm sorry, I told him I was with you, I should have told you," she said.

"Why are you lying to him in the first place, Liv," Fin asked, dropping into the chair. Olivia looked at him, realizing he was probably one of the only people who would understand. After regarding him for a moment, she looked down into her lap, feeling like a child about to be admonished.

"I was with Elliot," she said simply. Fin raised his eyebrows but remained silent. "He showed up on Tuesday, and I…" she didn't know what to say. "We went out for drinks, and Barba called and I didn't want to have to explain myself, so I said I was with you."

"You went for drinks," Fin said. "With Stabler."

Olivia looked at him. Anger flared in his eyes and she watched he grappled with a betrayal she was painfully familiar with. If he'd had any opinions about Elliot's departure all those years ago, he'd never shared them with her. It was a testament to his loyalty, to his friendship, that he'd never done anything besides support her deep-seated anger toward Elliot. For a moment she thought he was going to say something, but before he could the moment passed.

"It just happened," she sighed.

She didn't have the heart to tell him that it was going to happen again.

***elliot***

Elliot sat at the kitchen counter, nursing a beer, his foot tapping erratically on the bar beneath him. The clock ticked on the wall behind him, reminding him that he still had several hours before he could leave.

He was nervous.

It was a new feeling for him, he knew that much. Nervousness was not a feeling he could ever remember sitting in. Flitting through his consciousness, maybe, but his ironclad will had always forced it out before he could really get to know it.

But now, here he was, that ironclad will failing him. Over the last few years, it seemed the iron had begun to melt down into something looser, something porous, that allowed in such feelings as nervousness. As doubt. As panic and fear.

But, he remembered, it had also let in love and happiness like he'd never felt.

Words would never be able to explain the feeling he'd been encountering lately. If he was being honest guilt would probably never let him put words to it. Such contentment in the aftermath of such tragedy could hardly be a mark of a good man.

He settled for allowing himself to revel in his solitude. Letting himself appreciate the independence he'd never quite felt. The freedom he'd never had to grocery shop for himself or leave dishes in the sink.

Or, he thought to himself as he looked around the room, leave boxes unpacked in the corner of the room for a month. Maureen told him he should get it over with, but he'd brushed her off, telling her he would get to it when he'd get to it. And then he'd been thrown headfirst back into the NYPD, and had barely had a moment to think since then.

Though, that could have been avoided. He wondered if maybe he'd thrown himself into work on purpose, that maybe he'd been hoping that the more he worked, the higher the chance got of him running into Olivia coincidentally, a clandestine meeting in the field, where neither of them had time to overthink a thing.

Instead, he'd spent a month putting in overtime for nothing, and ended up with a half-unpacked apartment. It was only then that he'd decided he couldn't leave it up to chance anymore. If he wanted to talk to her he was going to have to do it on purpose. Feinstein had convinced him to go to her, to ambush her on her turf, where she had control.

Feinstein hadn't realized that it had also once been Elliot's turf, and that going back there had been like going home. The shrink thought he'd been giving Olivia the upper hand, but instead, he'd just sent Hercules back to Olympus.

Between the two of them, it wasn't a fair fight. It had never been a fair fight. Nothing about whatever had been between them had ever been fair.

The way that the two of them could be so in sync and clash the way they did had always fascinated him, almost as much as she had. The way he could get inside her head, but still wonder what it was like inside her mind. The way he could anticipate her every move but never know what she was going to do.

Maybe that's what drew him to her the most. The mysterious magnetism of their relationship, the tightrope they danced across. Maybe it was fascination that kept him hooked, the simple inability to figure her out despite understanding her completely.

His phone buzzed against the concrete countertop, a reminder from the restaurant that his reservation was in an hour. He grabbed the phone and his wallet off of the counter and made his way to the front door to grab his coat.

Regardless of what kind of force had pulled him and Olivia together all those years ago, Elliot knew it was stretching thin, and he wouldn't be guaranteed much more time to get her back.

***olviia***

"Mommy! I can't find my pajamas!"

Olivia heard her son a moment before he came bursting into her closet.

"I looked everywhere!"

"Everywhere?" She asked, skeptically. "You looked everywhere?"

Noah nodded vigorously, his eyes wide, his backpack hanging limply off of his shoulder. Before she could say anything else, he turned, running out of her closet and back into his room. She looked down at the boots she was holding in her hand, and back at another pair on the shelf, before dropping them both and standing up to help Noah.

She couldn't believe it was taking her this long to find something to wear. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone on a date, a proper date, not just drinks after work.

Confidence had never come naturally to her, but she was smart enough to know men found her attractive. She was also smart enough to know that that fact could only take her so far. After a while they realized she was only ever half in. That there was a part of her that would always be tied to her job.

That was part of why she only dated people she worked with. It wasn't necessarily on purpose but it definitely didn't hurt.

"Noah," she said, grabbing the tiny set out of a basket of clean laundry next to his closet. "Your pajamas are right here."

"No!" He yelled. She turned to him, eyebrows raised.

"Excuse me?"

"Dinosaurs," he said, crossing his arms narrowing his eyes at her. He may not have been her biological son but she was beginning to believe in nurture over nature. His stubbornness was pure Benson.

"Noah your dinosaur pajamas are in the laundry," Olivia sighed.

"Dinosaurs!" Noah yelled, throwing his backpack on the floor. Olivia took a deep breath, sitting down on the twin bed behind her.

"Well, we can't always get what we want," she started. Noah threw himself onto the ground and started crying. After a moment she slid to the ground beside him, crossing her ankles, and laid a hand gently on his back. "What's up buddy," she said softly.

After a moment Noah scooted up against his mother's leg, his face still buried in the rug.

"I don't want to go on my sleepover," he said into the shag. "I hate sleepovers."

"Baby you love sleepovers," she insisted. He shook his head, still not looking at her but wrapping his arms around her leg. "What's this really about?"

"Where are you going?" He asked. She ran her fingers through his curls.

"I'm going out to dinner," she answered. He turned his head, resting his cheek on her knee.

"With who?"

"A really old friend."

"Like Tuck?"

Olivia's heart stopped. She'd been wondering when it would come up. When she told Noah what happened he'd brushed it off, and she'd wondered how much of it he'd understood.

"We used to work together, like Tuck and I worked together," she said carefully. "But I don't know that it's quite the same."

Noah was quiet for a few minutes. Finally, he rolled over and pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes.

"Can I bring the iPad?"

She was so thankful that Noah had dropped the subject that she almost acquiesced before narrowing his eyes at him.

"I thought Mrs. Schafer had a 'no tech' policy."

Noah smirked, his little cheeks turning red.

"Ben asked if I could bring it so we could watch Dude Perfect," he whispered. Olivia rolled her eyes, standing up and tossing the pajamas she'd grabbed into his backpack.

"How about you go to Ben's tonight, and then you invite him to a sleepover next weekend and you can watch Dude Perfect here?" She asked. Noah smiled, grabbing the backpack and diving across his bed to find a stuffed animal to take with him.

Olivia left him in his room and walked back into her closet. Flicking through the modest blouses and jackets she paused, realizing this wasn't like all the other dates. This wasn't a buttoned-up, work-appropriate cocktail, this had potential.

She glanced toward the back of her closet.

It had a lot of potential.


End file.
